Dance from the Heart (Dancing with Horses Book 3)

  Dance

  From

  the

  Heart

  by Toni Mari

  Also by Toni Mari

  The Dancing with Horses Trilogy

  And We Danced Book One

  Join the Dance Book Two

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright © 2015 Toni Mari

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Tatiana Villa

  Visit the author at http://www.tonimaribooks.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  From the Author

  Chapter 1

  The tall black horse’s coat glistened in the sun as his knees bent and his belly hit the dirt. A grunt burst from his lips as his hind end flopped against the ground. He groaned and rolled onto his back, spindly legs waving in the air. Throwing them from side to side, he wiggled his spine into the turf, rubbing his neck back and forth. With a twist, his hooves clicked together and toppled to the ground with a thud. He released a mighty breath, and his muscles went slack. His body was motionless.

  “Windsong!” I called. My chin rested on my arms as I leaned on the gate. “Couldn’t you stay clean for five minutes? I just finished bathing you.”

  The black head rose slightly and one eye opened lazily. Then he settled back onto the warm earth. Nap time, I guessed.

  I knew how he felt. I sank into the grass, stretching my legs out and sighing heavily. I pulled the folded letter from my pocket and read it for the millionth time. Closing my eyes, I let my shoulders fall back, weeds tickling my neck.

  I was physically and mentally exhausted. I couldn’t decide what clothes to pack for college let alone make a big decision like this one.

  Congratulations on becoming the North American Junior Individual and Team Champion. The words jumped around in my head while I tried to make them feel real. Nothing had penetrated the numbness I felt since Erica Flame had died in a highway accident a month ago. The letter was from EMA Rescue, an organization that Erica had founded, sponsored, and supported. They were asking me to be their spokesperson. In her place.

  Spokesperson. That meant publicity, appearances, my name and photograph in magazines and newspapers, maybe even television commercials. Me. Jane Mitchell, shy, insecure, scared of my own shadow. I read the first line of the letter again. The tone was hopeful, delicate, cajoling, as if I was a celebrity to be persuaded.

  A shadow fell across the sun and I lowered the letter.

  “Hello, darling.” Cory’s deep, warm voice rolled over my body and I trembled. “Do you want company?” He was still treating me like fragile glass, and had been since the funeral. I had lived with Erica and her family for only a month while training for the championship, but they had felt like real family. I missed them.

  I nodded silently. He lay down on his side next to me, long, denim-clad legs stretched out, dusty cowboy boots crossed at the ankle. He pushed his white cowboy hat back and propped his head on one hand, putting the other on my hip. Blue eyes the color of the late summer sky fixed on the letter. “What’s that?”

  I handed it to him. Inspecting his chiseled profile and strong, square chin, I saw no change as he read. He put it on my stomach when he was done.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s a good cause.”

  I sat up. “I know. Besides saving so many abused and neglected horses, they educate owners on proper horse care. It seems odd that they asked me to fill Erica’s shoes. She was an icon; I’m just a high school kid.” I folded the letter into a small square and pushed it back into my pocket.

  Erica Flame was my idol, and I planned on becoming a world-class rider like her, but I was just starting my riding career. I needed to win some big, prestigious titles to gain the recognition to become influential in the sport of dressage and in the equestrian world in general. Once I had some championships to my name, becoming a spokesperson made sense, because people would know what I was capable of and respect me.

  Cory’s eyes sparkled. “You mean ‘a college kid.’”

  I cocked my head at him, “What?” It took me a second to rein back my thoughts from my future career to our conversation. “Right. Tomorrow, I enter the hallowed halls of North Carolina State. Another thing that seems odd to me. I’d rather stay home near you and ride Windsong.” I was wondering how living at college was going to fit into my training schedule for upcoming Regionals. Luckily, my parents had given me a car as a graduation present, and, boy, was I going to rack up some miles driving back and forth from the barn to school.

  “And give up a college education? You would be crazy to do that. And you would be crazy to say no to this offer.” Cory tipped his cowboy hat back to look up at me, his gaze thoughtful. “I keep thinking about all the horses you would be helping. Horses like Lakota, who deserve a chance to live in safety and comfort. He may not have gotten that chance if not for EMA Rescue saving him and the others at that farm last year.”

  “Even though it’s pure publicity?” Cory had been on the World Reining Gold Medal Team a year ago, so he knew about fame. I thought for sure he would be against me doing this. “You always say you hate publicity, and that’s all this would be.”

  “But you would be representing a good cause, not just promoting yourself.” He took my arm and drew me down next to him. He kissed me gently on the lips.

  Smoothing the soft curls at the base of his neck between my fingers, I murmured, “So, you think I should do it? I do want to help the horses, but think I would be a better spokesperson in a few years, after I become the best Grand Prix rider in the country.”

  My phone buzzed in the pocket of my tight breeches, the vibration causing me to jolt up and bump my forehead on Cory’s. He sat up, rubbing the spot.

  I worked the phone out of my pocket. It was a text message from Shawn Delaney. Averting my eyes, I pressed my lips together and quickly typed a response. I shot a look at Cory, and then busied myself standing and dusting off my pants. “I have to go.”

  Cory hopped up. “It’s from him?”

  My face heated. “It’s not what you think.” I started walking toward the barn. “He asked to meet for ice cream. I haven’t seen him since
the funeral. He’s still my friend.” I raised my voice defiantly.

  “Just so he knows I’m still your boyfriend.” Cory caught up to me and, taking my chin, tipped up my lips. He kissed me deeply, pulling me close and holding me in strong arms. “Don’t forget. Our last dinner together before you leave for school is tonight.”

  Chapter 2

  I pushed through the glass door of the diner, setting the brass bell tinkling. I scanned the booths, spotting Shawn’s spiky blond head halfway down the aisle. His back was to me, and I took a deep, steadying breath.

  I slid onto the bench opposite him, keeping my eyes on the closed menu and off of his. “Hi, Shawn.”

  One arm on the table, the other stretched along the seat back, he slouched comfortably across the booth in that way he had. He bobbed his head, bleak brown eyes rising lazily to mine. “You look good, Jane.”

  I smoothed the loose tendrils away from my face and tightened my ponytail. “Not really, but thanks. How are you?” I said pointedly.

  His hair, always on the messy side, was showing dark roots and half covered his ears. He had bags under his eyes and his skin was pale. Finally, I wrenched my gaze from his dry, chapped lips—lips that I had kissed—to his eyes.

  One eyebrow lifted as he tried for jaunty. “Just dandy.” He failed. He glanced out the window. “According to the standing bet, I owe you an ice cream sundae.”

  “Technically, you don’t, because the bet was that I had to beat Erica’s score, and she never …” His jaw stiffened, and I bit my lip. Summoning a fake smile, I said, “You know what? I’ll take that sundae. I’ll probably owe you one after Regionals.”

  He studied me for a minute and then signaled a waitress. After she took our order, he drummed his fingers on the table. “How’s Cory?”

  “Fine—we’re fine,” I stuttered.

  He nodded. He pushed a folded newspaper across the table. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t need to. The headline was practically shouting at me:

  Multiple Vehicle Crash Claims 4 Lives Including Olympic Equestrian

  The picture showed her truck and trailer lying on their sides, a mangled compact car wedged underneath. The words blurred as moisture tingled the corners of my eyes, but not before I picked a few out. “Horrific accident.” “Tragic deaths.” I squeezed my eyes shut, closing out the image, and a hot, salty tear trickled down my cheek and pooled on my lip.

  Shawn leaned forward and wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. “I talked to Mark. He could barely speak. He is still devastated.” Sitting back, he tapped the table with his fork. “Mark is having the rescue people disperse all the horses. He’s selling the whole place.”

  I turned the paper over. “Oh no. Where will you go?” Plucking a sugar packet out of the little square box under the window, I shook it back and forth, staring at the tiny print. Silently repeating Domino sugar, Domino sugar, I fought back the sting in my eyes while I waited for his response.

  He shrugged. “I moved Donner to Rainbow Ridge, Melinda’s barn, for now. I don’t feel much like riding.”

  “What about Tucker? And Mandy? How’s Mandy? She hasn’t answered any of my texts.” I choked up thinking of the twelve-year-old without her mom.

  “Mark and Mandy moved to New York City. The two of them can’t stand being in that house. I guess Tucker’s going with the rest of the horses. I don’t know.”

  The waitress set our ice cream in front of us.

  “I wish I could see Mandy. Maybe I’ll try again. Set something up.” I stabbed at the sundae absentmindedly.

  “She’d like that. To see you.” His gaze intensified.

  I squirmed, dropping my spoon with a clatter, and then sat on my hands. To steer clear of the implications of that gaze, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did you get a letter from EMA?”

  Again, the lackluster lift of one shoulder. “No, for what?”

  “I thought you would have.” Then I snapped my mouth shut. It struck me that he may not like the idea of me benefiting from Erica’s death. I casually lifted my spoon with a little shake of my head. “Oh, nothing, actually, just congratulations and stuff.”

  A small smile touched his lips. “You suck at lying. What was in it?”

  He always was too perceptive when it came to me. Scraping the softened ice cream from the edge of my dish, I spooned it into my mouth. “I don’t get why it was me. It should have been you. This spokesperson thing. For EMA.”

  His eyes bored into mine, his hot gaze holding me riveted. My stomach lurched.

  Without looking, I scooped deep into my sundae and shoved the spoon in my mouth. A searing pain from the cold shot into my brain. I winced, slapping a hand over my mouth and bouncing on the seat until it passed.

  When I finally opened my eyes, a full-blown smile creased Shawn’s face. “You’re a nut.” A hint of his old confidence and swagger emerged. “Good to know I can still fluster you.”

  “It was brain freeze from the ice cream, nothing to do with you!” I denied immediately, back to the old habit of never admitting he affected me. “Anyway, they should have asked you to replace Erica as spokesperson since you’ve known her longer.”

  Trying again to capture me with his eyes, he quirked that charming eyebrow and whispered, “I’d forgotten.”

  Rolling my eyes, I pretended to be unaffected. I took a tiny bit onto my spoon and licked it. “What?”

  “First, how everything you do can turn me on. But, second, how goody-goody and modest you are.”

  I gritted my teeth. “And I forgot what a pushy idiot you are.”

  He laughed out loud. “But you love me.”

  I shot him a warning look and he continued more seriously. “Jane, you are the number one junior rider in the nation. And you are beautiful and a good person. Erica would think you are the perfect spokesperson for EMA. She would laugh if they suggested me, saying I would make bad press.”

  “Why would she say that? Erica loved you. You were always the best rider on the team. You just didn’t ride that last class, so I won.”

  Tipping his head and scratching an eyebrow, he sighed. “Erica knew me well, but she saw something in you. We all did—do. Anyway, you still would have beaten me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  He threw a twenty on the table and slid out of the booth. “I know it. Anyway, I plan on doing my best to create bad press in college. I’ll see you around.”

  I watched him walk out and climb into his little sports car. One thing was true, he knew Erica better than I did, so when he said he thought she would like me to be the new spokesperson, I believed it.

  I snapped the cap on my mascara and looked at the poster of Erica hanging on the wall beside my bureau. Santos, Erica’s majestic chestnut gelding, was standing in a perfectly square halt, head up and ears pricked forward. Erica’s tall, elegant frame, in her tailcoat and top hat, leaned forward as she patted his gleaming auburn neck. Her face was tipped in the direction of the camera, beaming at an unseen audience. The sheer presence of the pair radiated from the poster giving me goosebumps even after months of looking at it.

  I picked up the blusher and feathered my cheeks, studying my reflection. I closed my eyes and imagined me in my show clothes and Windsong shiny in the stadium lights, saluting in the halt. It was a pretty picture, sure, but worthy of a poster? Dabbing my lips with gloss, I smiled at myself. Nope, not charismatic.

  I picked up the letter from my dresser and unfolded it again.

  EMA Rescue will benefit greatly from your representation.

  It said it right there in print. They wanted me, and it would help a lot of horses.

  Cory stood behind the plush, U-shaped sectional couch in the living room, hatless. I hopped off the last step onto the cold, marble floor of the foyer and swept past the antique side table, touching the white felt cowboy hat that sat on it.

  My father had turned down the volume of the big screen television, arms crossed as he spoke intently to Cory. His collared shi
rt and dress slacks were a direct contrast to Cory’s T-shirt and jeans. At least he wasn’t wearing a tie, his one concession to comfort on a Saturday.

  Cory ran a hand through his dark curls, making them adorably messy. “No, sir, I’ll plan a visit another time.”

  Sir? Cory was using his manners for grown-ups. His straight, stiff shoulders and serious expression showed that he was trying to be especially impressive for my father.

  “I’m ready,” I announced to interrupt their conversation.

  “We were just talking about you leaving for college tomorrow. Why isn’t Cory coming with us?” Dad asked, hands moving to his hips.

  I darted a glance at Cory. Talk about putting me on the spot. I hadn’t invited Cory because college was a sore spot with him. His mother was a waitress; he didn’t have the option of spending another four years in school. He had to work. “I thought he would be bored, all the checking in and unpacking.”

  “I can’t wait to see the campus after all these years. College was one of the best times of my young life,” my father reminisced. His lips tipped up, making the skin crinkle around his eyes and softening the stern lines of his face.

  Wanting to change the subject quickly before he got into some story from his school days, I held up the letter. “I wanted to show you this, Dad. Maybe you can help me draft an acceptance letter? I am excited to get involved with this organization.”

  After reading through it, my father folded the paper in half. “You know, you won’t have time for something like this. You’ll be busy with extracurriculars at school. We’ll turn this down.”

  I resisted the urge to stamp my foot and cross my arms, resisted the urge to whine like I did when I was little and wanted another piece of candy. Swallowing, I mimicked Cory’s formal tone. “But it’s a good cause. I really want to do it.”

  “Jane, I know from experience, you won’t have much time for the horses once you get involved at school. Besides, this is just doing media hype. You’re smarter than that. Once you have your degree, you’re going to be the business owner who hires a cute girl like yourself to market it.” He handed the letter back to me. “Tell them no thank you. You kids have a nice dinner.” He turned and sat back down, pointing the remote at the television and increasing the volume.